Chapter Three
She did as he bid her and twined her arms around his neck. For a single, baffling moment her touch felt like home, but with his next breath the strange sensation dissipated on a wave of panic.
She thinks to send me to my knees again…
No. Not this time. He hadn’t survived blood and battles and chaos only to be brought to his knees by her. “Open your eyes.”
Fear made his voice harsh, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyelids lifted on command, as if he’d jerked a string, but somehow her compliance only made him angry. “So obedient. But what now, sweet?”
“Wot? Ye mean ye don’t know? Aw, well, don’t worry, guv. I’ll help ye along.”
“Will you? Very well, then. Go to the bed and hike up your skirts.” There. That should earn him a slap to the face. One sharp crack and they could end this farce.
Without a word she turned, marched over to the bed, lay on her back, and reached a hand down to lift her skirts.
He almost laughed. Some things hadn’t changed, then. Charlotte had never been one to settle for a farce when she could have a drama. Julian crossed the room in two long strides, took her by the arm, and drew her to her feet. “How far do you plan to take this?”
She ran a teasing finger down his arm, but her eyes narrowed to dark slits. “Why, as far as you will, luv. Further.”
“You’d let me bed you?” His laugh was harsh, incredulous. “Do you have so little regard for yourself? Or are you a whore now, after all?”
As soon as the ugly words left his mouth Julian flinched away from them, as if someone else had said them. How had they gotten to this point? He’d only thought to bring her upstairs and show her how foolish she was to trifle with her reputation, and now he was calling her a whore?
Jesus. He had to calm down, to go easier. “I beg your—”
“’Course I’m a whore.” Her eyes flashed, and an echo of it reverberated in his belly, the feeling both strange and familiar at once. He’d seen that spark before. He’d always thought her more glorious than ever when she was in a passion. So much passion, as if she carried a flame inside her. But as quickly as the flame sparked to life it was gone, and she regarded him with cool, dark eyes. “That’s what ye paid for, innit?”
Ah. So that’s what this was. Not a farce or a drama, but charades, and she’d continue to play until he removed her masque, and once he did, neither of them would be able to hide anymore. Pity. Charades were much more entertaining than reality. More truthful, too, because they didn’t pretend to be anything other than what they were.
He didn’t want to see her face, but it was inevitable, this moment between them. It wouldn’t be cheated, and masked or not, her face would never cease to haunt him. It was printed indelibly inside his eyelids, waiting there to torment him every time he closed his eyes.
For months after he left London, every dark-haired woman he happened across was her. Every red lip, every long, white neck, every husky, teasing laugh—her. There were days when he thought he’d go mad from it, and yet still it was her, always, even after she’d tossed him away without a thought, much as she’d tossed her cheroot into the fire when she’d finished with it this evening—tossed it away to never think on it again.
Remove the masque, and end this.
He watched his hand reach for her as if he were trapped in a nightmare. The masque’s silk tie was slippery under his fingers and he struggled with the knot, but then the scrap of jewels and ribbon fell to the floor at their feet, the black silk stark against the white linen of his cravat.
He caught her chin in his fingers and turned her face up to his. So soft and warm still, her skin so fine, so smooth. The perfect curve of her cheek, the wide dark eyes tipped with those feathery lashes—in another lifetime they’d made his chest ache with want, and her lips, so full and red, had made his knees buckle.
“Do you like what you see?”
She stood before him, her loosened gown slipping off her shoulders. He’d unfastened every button, all the way down to that sweet spot at the arch of her back. He knew it was sweet because he’d tasted her there, had trailed his lips over that fragrant arch again and again…
But he’d been gone for months—no, for a lifetime, and everything inside him had gone so jagged, so sideways he didn’t recognized himself anymore. He was no longer the same man who’d been taken in by the promise of those eyes, those lips, and on a stab of inexplicable loss he thought some part of him must despise her now, in her fine gown and her elaborate jeweled masque, with her lovely face and hard eyes.
“No. Not quite the same, after all.” He released her chin to trail his fingertips down her cheek. His touch was gentle, deceptively so, for his words were cruel. “Beautiful still, of course, but I find myself curiously unmoved, Lady Hadley.”
He waited for another flash of temper in her eyes, but she might have been a marble statue or a porcelain doll, for not a ripple of emotion disturbed her blank face. “Ah, well. It’s for the best, I suppose. It didn’t end well for me when my face did move you, did it, Captain West?”
His hand dropped away from her cheek. “Have you rewritten our history, my lady? As I recall it didn’t end well for either of us—”
“Charlotte!” A loud thump at the door made them both jump. “Are you in there?”
“Hush, Aurelie!” another voice hissed. “Or you’ll have dozens of whores and their bare-arsed lords out here with us.”
Someone rattled the handle, but the door remained firmly shut. “That devil has her locked in there with him!”
Another thump, this one followed by an incredulous laugh. “Lissie! Do you intend to knock down the door with your slipper?”
“I suppose you have a better idea, Annabel?” This question was accompanied by another dull slap on the door, then a shockingly unladylike curse.
“Well, yes. We’ll have Charlotte let us in.”
“But that devil must have restrained her,” wailed the first lady, “or she’d have answered our knock by now! He likely has her secured to a chair, or worse, to the bed!”
There was a brief pause, then a smothered laugh. “That could be worse or better, depending on what he looks like. Did either of you see him?”
“That is not amusing, Annabel. Charlotte! Can you hear us? Maybe he has her gagged.”
Julian raised an eyebrow. Gagged?
“Hush!” snapped the one called Annabel. “I think it far more likely we have the wrong room.”
“But the blond-haired doxy said it was the last door on the left.”
Thud. This time the door shuddered in its frame. The one wielding the slipper—Lissie—must have exchanged her shoe for her fist. “She must have lied. No doubt he paid her well to do so. Aurelie, go back down and give her a guinea.”
There was another pause, then, “Oh, dear. I don’t have a guinea. Do you suppose she’ll take a crown and a half-smoked cheroot, instead?”
“What’s a whore going to do with a half-smoked cheroot, for heaven’s sake?”
“I don’t know. Smoke the other half?”
Julian retrieved his cravat from the floor and looped it around his neck. “You’d better let your friends in.” He plucked his waistcoat from the bench at the end of the bed and withdrew the key from his pocket. “Quickly, before they tear down the door.”
He handed Charlotte the key, donned his waistcoat, snatched his coat up from the bench and braced himself for the inevitable uproar as all three ladies tumbled into the room at once.
“Charlotte! Oh, dieu merci!” The petite blonde rushed forward and clasped Charlotte in her arms. “We thought you were right behind us earlier! We would have missed you sooner, but when we got outside Lord Devon was waiting for us, and what do you think? The wicked man tried to argue we hadn’t won the wager because Lissie didn’t smoke her cheroot, and—”
“I bloody well did smoke it! Let Devon sniff my breath if he doesn’t believe me.”
The tall, slender blonde closed the door behind them, strolled into the room, and stopped in front of Julian. “Shall we discuss it later? I’d like to be introduced to this, ah, gentleman first.”
The redhead, Lissie, placed her hands on her hips. “Right. Who the bloody hell are you?”
Julian shrugged and began to button his waistcoat. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m the devil who locked the door, secured Lady Hadley to the bed, and gagged her.”
“I knew it!” Aurelie crowed.
Charlotte glared at him, then turned to Aurelie. “For goodness’ sake. You can see for yourselves that’s not what happened.”
The taller blonde continued to eye Julian. “I see. Was yours a random attack, sir, or do you often force your attentions on unwilling ladies?”
“Ladies?” Julian gave her a bland smile. “Need I remind you you’re in a brothel? Generally speaking, whores are willing to receive a gentleman’s attentions.”
The redhead snorted. “Gentleman? I hope you don’t refer to yourself.”
“And this lady isn’t a whore,” the blonde added. “Anyone can see that, and I’d wager you knew it well enough when you brought her up here.”
“Another wager?” Julian waved a hand around the room. “You’re still in a brothel, madam. Perhaps you should conclude your last wager before you undertake a second one. After all, I may have rope and gags enough for all four of you.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you did,” snapped the redhead. “We’re not afraid of you, and we’ll have an explanation for your infamous behavior at once.”
He shrugged. “Very well. The marchioness and I are…acquaintances.”
“Acquaintances?” The little blonde grasped Charlotte’s shoulders, turned her around, and began to fasten the back of her gown. “Are you in the habit of ripping your acquaintances’ clothing from their backs?”
“Ah. Well. That depends on the acquaintance.”
A corner of the tall blonde’s mouth twitched. “Indeed. What is your name, sir?”
Julian tugged the ends of his cravat into place and began to tie it with smooth, precise movements, but he remained silent. He’d answered enough of her questions, and since he meant to stay far away from Charlotte after tonight, her blonde friend didn’t need to know his name.
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” she murmured, when it became clear he wasn’t going to reply. “All buttoned up again, Charlotte? Ah, very good. Then I see no reason to linger. Let’s be certain we all leave together this time, all right, my dears?”
Julian pulled his coat on. “No. I don’t think so.”
All four ladies turned to him, but it was Charlotte who spoke. “What do you mean, you don’t think so?”
He leaned down and scooped up her black masque from the floor. “You’re coming with me.”
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “Not without rope and a gag, I’m not. I’m leaving with my friends.”
“I don’t think so,” he said again. “For all I know your friends are on their way to another whorehouse. You’ll come with me, as it’s the only way I can be certain you’re delivered safely to your door.”
“How gallant. Rather surprising, given the circumstances. I’ve no need for an escort, however.”
“You mistake the matter indeed if you think my concern is for you.”
Somehow in the midst of this bizarre evening he’d forgotten why he dragged Charlotte upstairs in the first place. Because bloody Cam had cozened him into it, and because Ellie had made it clear she’d rather her younger sister didn’t spend her time in a whorehouse.
“Such admirable family loyalty.” Charlotte gave a short, mocking laugh. “But perhaps I can be persuaded to accept your escort after all, as long as we agree no one else needs to know about this.”
Too late. But then Charlotte obviously hadn’t caught on to that fact, and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. The lie fell smoothly from his lips. “If you come with me now, no one need be the wiser.”
“Good. After all, no harm was done tonight.”
No harm yet. They still had to escape a crowded whorehouse with her reputation intact. A tricky business, that. Cam and Ellie could be the least of Charlotte’s worries. By tomorrow everyone in London might know about her whorehouse escapade.
“I have your word on this?” Charlotte pressed.
“Of course.” The promise was broken before he even made it, but she’d given up any right she had to the truth when she’d strolled into a whorehouse. He’d do whatever it took to get her out the door.
She studied him for a moment, then turned to her friends. “It’s all right. He’ll take me straight back to Grosvenor Square.”
The redhead slid Julian a measuring look, then frowned. “I don’t like it, Charlotte.”
“I don’t, either.” The petite blonde looked as if she were on the verge of tears. “What proof do we have he’ll see you home safely? Why, he could drop you in the middle of Seven Dials and leave you to the mercy of the footpads!”
“I assure you, madam, I have no such intention. Why should I play such a nasty trick on the footpads?”
The tall blonde’s mouth twitched again; then she came forward and kissed Charlotte’s cheek. “Alas, straight back to Grosvenor Square, just as if you were a naughty child. Rather a dull end to an otherwise promising evening. But no matter.” She threw Julian a provoking smile. “There’s always tomorrow night. Now, ladies, are your masques secured? We have to make our way through that pack of shrieking villains again.”
The other two ladies kissed Charlotte, tightened the ribbons on their masques and followed the tall blonde out the door, leaving the room far quieter than it was before they’d entered.
Julian thrust the black masque into Charlotte’s hands. “Here. Put this back on.”
She didn’t argue, but silently donned the masque and tied the ribbon.
He cracked open the door to check the hallway. It was empty. “Follow me, but don’t come into the parlor. Stay out of sight while I secure a hack.”
There was no sign of Charlotte’s friends downstairs, but their departure must have caused an uproar, because he found Mrs. Lacey soothing a group of disgruntled young bucks with promises of exotic fleshly pleasures Julian knew to be illegal in England. She was more than happy to secure him a hack, shove him and his troublesome companion toward the door, and be rid of them.
Charlotte sat across from him in the carriage on their way to Grosvenor Square, her masque in her lap and a shaft of moonlight teasing pale fingers across her face. To look at her now, he’d never guess she’d spent her evening in a whorehouse, dangling her reputation from the end of a silken cord. She appeared every inch the grand marchioness.
Neither of them spoke until the carriage drew to a halt in front of Charlotte’s house, and then Julian cleared his throat. “I’ll remain in London for a short time only. A few weeks at most.”
“Indeed? I suppose you have plans to return to Hertfordshire.”
Considering the night of passion they’d shared at his home in Hertfordshire it should have cost her an effort to mention it, but if it did, she hid it well. “Anxious to be rid of me, are you, Lady Hadley?”
She smoothed her hands over her skirts, then folded them in her lap. “I can’t think of any reason why I should be. Can you?”
Julian stared at her. She stared back with an air of polite enquiry, as if she were waiting for him to hand her a cup of tea. “As I said, I have business in London, and as my cousin is rather inconveniently married to your sister, we’re bound to be thrown into each other’s company. Not more than necessary, I hope.”
“Oh? And how much of my company would you deem necessary, Captain?”
So bloody composed. “The less, the better. I’m staying with Cam, Ellie, and Amelia in Bedford Square, and you, well…” He gestured toward the carriage window. “You have a grand house in Grosvenor Square, don’t you?”
Julian let this sink in and waited for something, anything to indicate she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be.
He was disappointed. She only tilted her head to one side to study him, then, “Oh. I see. You’re warning me away from my sister’s house.”
He shrugged. “Not forever, but it would be easier while I remain in London, yes.”
She considered this as if she thought it a perfectly reasonable demand. “And should your business keep you in London longer than you anticipate? What then?”
“Would that bother you?”
“Are you asking me, Captain, if it would bother me not to see my family?”
Her cool poise was beginning to nettle him. “I can’t imagine you see much of them now, with your friends and your whorehouse romps to keep you busy. You can’t be that fond of Amelia, especially. She’s only your half-sister.”
He leaned back against his seat and waited. If a shadow of Charlotte Sutherland hid under the marchioness’s cool facade, he’d see her now. From the moment she’d discovered their connection, Charlotte had been fiercely protective of Amelia.
“I don’t do things by halves, Captain West.” Her tone was pleasant. Conversational.
“Don’t you? That’s not how I remember it.”
“Memories are deceptive things, aren’t they? I do beg your pardon, but I will make you no promises, as I may find I have an inclination to visit my family in between whorehouse romps.”
“You forget, my lady, I’ve heard your promises before. Even if you did promise, I wouldn’t believe you.”
The coachman came down from the box and held the door, waiting for Charlotte to alight. She descended from the carriage, but hesitated on the street for a moment. “No,” she said. “I don’t suppose you would.”
The moon had retreated behind a cloud and Julian could no longer see her face, but her gaze was fixed on… He didn’t know what, but something he couldn’t see. She closed the carriage door with a quiet click and mounted the stairs to her grand house, the entrance half lost in shadows.